"How much would you take for that old bull there in your pasture?" asked the stranger.
I
could tell that the trespasser currently standing in my bull field was
an admirer of fine animal flesh. "Yes, Stanley is quite a piece of work
isn't he? A great breeding bull, if I may say so."
"I wasn't interested in him for breeding," said the interloper.
"Well surely you don't want him for eating?" I asked. "I imagine his meat would be tough and stringy."
"No, no. I am an artist," he said. "I dabble in bulls instead of oils."
Now that he mentioned it I realized that this intruder was an artsy kind of a guy… pony tail, bare feet, earrings and all.
"I got started initially in dehydrated
cow pies," he explained. "I did quite well selling them as gag gifts
back east. But I longed for more serious art."
"I
can certainly understand that. I don't suppose there are too many cow
pies in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. But I must admit that I am a
little confused. If you don't want Stanley for his breeding ability or
his meat what could you possibly want him for?"
"His legs. I want to saw off his legs actually."
"I'll admit they're great legs but wouldn't that kill him?" I asked.
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